By: Mahinour Tawfik One is born in the quest for love But what’s love but pain and woe Painters and poets all speak of Before the end, most drown below Diamond stars in dreamy skies Raindrops falling on cupid’s arrow Thunder…

By: Kate Noble Neptune, distracted, casts his merciful eye over a goodly realm and – held in that instant – likes what he sees, Wool-fat sheep aside angle-gnarled trees sprinkled through grey-grit peaks of bracken-brown slopes, And passingly visions need of…

By: Kate Noble If you thought for a moment some guy sits on high And pulls at our tensed strings from lofty cloud skies To choose in an instant who lives or who dies Or how someone acts in the blink…

By: Archita Mittra tonight, the goddess walks on moss & stone, skin stained sunset, a sky that swirls & bleeds into cob-webbed eyes dreaming the other country. tonight, the goddess walks without love or myth as shadow, counting the arrow birds,…

By: Archita Mittra when you sing to mountain dust & wild-eyed streetcars streaking through winding darkness-wearing roads, your skin lit by van gogh stars, a stain slowly swirling across your painted lips, of the last square of chocolate (from the box…

By: Sandeep Kumar Mishra In snowy unpigmented drape Wintry withdrawn world waits For the warm kiss of the day; Through the long lonely valley The elevation blows the glacial gale To cheer the deep and solemn solitude; Over the bare upland,…

By: Sandeep Kumar Mishra Icy winds filled with chimney smoke Signaled the burning of Christmas block, When colorful lights all around gleam The holy monks sing the merry theme, Sacred lilies, decorative ivory, fill homes Town to town our joyful echo…

By: Lynn White It was my first attempt at DIY hair dying. My friend had transformed her dull brown into glossy chestnut and Patricia thought it perfect to transform her unnatural blond. So I helped her out. Tiger Lily, it said…

By: Lynn White I’m living alone and loving it, that I am. I had a good ‘un though, but wouldn’t want to train another. Takes years to train ‘em. That couple last night, what a one she was. You could…

By: Ruth Z Deming There he is, Frank Kelso Wolfe, coming down the stairs in his slippers and bathrobe. Whistling, he looks around for his mom and dad. The kitchen clock reads ten-thirty. He’s slept late again, but who wouldn’t. It…